And also apropos: we met 2 years today.
Because of course we did.
Of course we did.

That doesn’t matter now.

On the bright side, there’s not a city to divide. No mutual friends to find seemingly insignificant reasons to no longer see. No streets to not to drive down. There’s only pressing delete on entry 3 of my Skype To Go call list. There is only the manipulation of my Taurean resolve to never again look at pictures whose chronological sorting renders them impossible to accidentally stumble upon. There’s letting go of trying to understand the appeal of Indian food or tents or spaghetti westerns.

There’s only sweeping up and tidying.
There’s rearranging.
There’s rewriting events to suit my narrative, because

when you entrust our
story to my memories
no complaints allowed

There are empty bottles in which to place the unasked questions.
There is a sea in want of bottles.

There are lights to be turned out.
There are keys to be left under the mat.

There is only the finality of goodbye.

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About J.

A former twentysomething with a head full of curls and heart full of questions wondering: when we get to nirvana, will there be food?